


Fever Reducers

by LouLa



Category: Disney RPF, Jonas Brothers
Genre: Domestic, Fever, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 07:27:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouLa/pseuds/LouLa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick is sick. Miserable, grumpy, bedridden, feverish. Joe loves him anyway and takes care of him the only way he knows how.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fever Reducers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [robpatFF](https://archiveofourown.org/users/robpatFF/gifts).



> Idk. For h/c bingo, the wild card space. I begged Morgan to pick a prompt for me and she asked for sickfic, the fever / delirium prompt. This is what she gets.
> 
> Warning for some mild dub-con since Nick is sick with fever. Could be viewed as underage though I did not specifically age them.
> 
> Apologies for any errors. This has not been beta'd and was written and edited from my phone.

Joe bounces into Nick's bed at nine AM, sharp, stealing the covers and kicking his icy feet against Nick's warm legs.

"Ugh, Joe, don't," Nick complains, twisting away from his brother and taking the blankets with him.

He's been laid up all weekend, alternating between chills and sweating. Joe is driving him crazy. All he wants to do is sleep but Joe won't leave him alone. He hadn't even left Nick's room until after midnight last night, despite their parents telling him to leave Nick alone. He probably stayed up watching the rest of season three of House, what is he even doing awake?

But there he is, jostling Nick out of his comfortable spot and leeching all of his warmth. He's _freezing_ suddenly, and Joe isn't helping at all.

"Joe, please." Nick sounds pathetic even to his own ears. He just... he feels like death. Why does Joe have to move _so much_?

"Why are you still sick?" Joe asks, sounding put upon, like running a high fever and being bedridden and miserable is his plight, not Nick's.

"It's not like you're helping me get any better," Nick rasps grumpily.

Joe just sighs. "Okay, Nicky. We gotta take care of you," he says, grabbing Nick's hand from beneath the covers and hauling it into his lap. He grabs Nick's kit and Nick jerks his hand away.

"Checked it an hour ago, I'm fine." Tired. _Exhausted_. Feverish. In pain. Freezing cold. But fine. Nothing some quick adjustments and a glass of orange juice couldn't fix.

"Okay," Joe repeats. "Do you need anything? Want to watch something? I can-"

"Joe, I just want quiet. I want to sleep." He sounds on the verge of tears, probably because he is. He's so tired.

Joe wriggles against him, tucking in close to Nick's back. "'Kay," he whispers. "Sorry. We'll sleep, Nicky."

He's warm, so Nick doesn't complain, goes lax against him and lets Joe wrap him up in his arms and the blanket.

"You smell," Joe says, nosing into the curls at the nape of Nick's neck.

"Thanks, Joe," Nick mumbles, already falling asleep.

"We'll wash up later."

Lulled by Joe's even breaths, his hand rubbing gently from Nick's ribs to hip, his eyes flutter shut.

-

Nick wakes up feeling like he's on fire, drenched in sweat. The blankets are twisted around him so tightly he can barely breathe. With weak, half-dead arms, he claws his way out from the blanket cocoon and into fresh air.

He feels miserable. His head is pounding and he's dizzy enough to faint. Despite that fear, he stands up on wobbly legs and makes his way to the bathroom with knees that feel like they're made of rubber.

The mirror is not a welcome sight and Nick grimaces at his reflection. His hair is matted down to his head with sweat and his skin is a sickly pallor, white as a sheet except for two bright spots of red high on his cheeks, heated with fever. He finishes up and washes his hands, and finds Joe waiting for him in his room.

"We're checking your blood sugar," he says, voice brooking no argument. Nick nods his acceptance, sitting heavily against Joe's side and offering him a finger to prick.

"It's not bad," Joe says. "But you still need to eat something and drink this."

Nick, too weak and too tired to fight, does what he's told. He keeps himself awake while Joe gets him something to eat. He doesn't care what it is, nothing sounds even remotely good. It goes down blissfully tasteless and Nick feels no better for it. Just walking across the hall and being awake long enough to eat has left him so tired that he wants to take another three hour nap.

Joe helps him back into bed. Nick is expecting a million questions and Joe to fit himself up behind Nick under the covers, but all he gets is a cool hand on his forehead and a softly worded song about Milkshakes.

-

Nick wakes up shivering. It's a pattern he's come to expect over the past few days.

When he reaches for the blankets, he can't find them, groping blindly with no success.

Something cold and wet drips on his face. Nick opens his eyes just in time to see a cloth coming toward him, and then it's not so gently being rubbed over his face, down and up again, into his hair.

He flails and twists, and Joe says, "Sorry. Sorry, Nicky, we need to do something about this and I knew you wouldn't shower."

He kind of rubs at Nick's hair a little more, down his neck, and then backs off.

"Okay, clothes off, Nick. Sit up," he instructs, grabbing at Nick's arm.

"Joe, no," he whines, limp as a wet noodle when Joe tries to haul him up.

"Nicholas, behave," he says, as if Nick is all of five years old and is resisting bath time. Well.

He lets Joe haul him up with a pitiful whine, cooperates by raising his arms when Joe lifts his shirt, and sinks back into the pillows as Joe makes a grab for his waistband. He doesn't expect Joe to pull down his underwear too.

"Joe," he squeaks, embarrassingly naked. He has nothing to cover himself with but his hands, and it feels even more embarrassing to use them to hide his privates. He's feels queasy all of a sudden.

Joe rolls his eyes at Nick's modesty but otherwise ignores him to continue his rough scrubbing with the cold cloth.

"Shower. Joe, shower," Nick demands, trying to keep himself covered and protect his body from Joe's harsh treatment at the same time, curling in.

Joe's smirk is so smug at that; Nick knows he just lost and gave Joe what he wanted all along. It had been his plan.

"I hate you," Nick mutters miserably at Joe's beaming smile. Joe doesn't even have the decency to give Nick his underwear back before he starts to haul him up from the bed. "Hate you. Hate you. Hate you. Joe!" he protests once they're at the bedroom door and Joe throws it open, baring all of Nick's nudity to anyone in the house.

"Relax, princess, no one's home. I'm under strict instructions to take care of you."

"You're doing an abysmal job so far."

"Me abysmal. You delirious."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"Exactly. It's the fever talking."

"But I'm the one with the-"

"Exactly."

Nick gives up trying to make sense of what Joe is saying and goes back to muttering about how much he hates him instead. Joe keeps up a steady stream of sing-song retorts while he gets the shower ready and leaves Nick to sit on the closed toilet lid. Naked. It's cold.

"Love you. Love you more. I love you more than anyone. I love you even though you stink. I love you even when you're a grumpy little dick. I love you more than anything. I love you more than Eggos. I love you more than Mom's French toast. I love you more than you love Elvis."

"That's a lot," Nick injects before Joe can find something else to love him more than.

"I love you most, Nicholas. You know that."

"I know. I love you too."

"Yeah, yeah," Joe replies nonchalantly. "Shower's ready."

"But I love you too. The most. I promise."

"I know you do, Nicky. Come on now. Time to get clean."

Nick would protest to being manhandled around like a ragdoll but he doesn't have the energy. Which is likely what necessitates the manhandling.

He doesn't realize Joe is naked too until they're bare chest to bare chest as he drags Nick around to get him into the shower stall.

"Why're you naked?"

"Because you need to shower and I need to take care of you. And that doesn't mean letting you pass out in the shower to drown."

"You can't drown in the shower."

"I have no doubt that you'd find a way. Now help me out, here."

"Cold," Nick squeaks indignantly, shrinking back against Joe's body when the water hits him. It's only because he's sick that he can't manage to fight his way past Joe, too weak to even make much of an attempt at it.

"It's not too cold, baby. It should help bring your fever down."

"Too cold." Nick shivers and plasters himself to Joe's front, where it's warm.

Joe sighs. "It feels fine to me, warm. We need to get your temperature down."

Nick shakes his head feebly against Joe's shoulder.

"Nick, come on, you're being a baby," Joe says, which would usually get to him, but not today. He's too tired and too weak and too everything.

Bodily, Joe pushes Nick beneath the spray of the shower, his whines and protests lost against the skin of Joe's shoulder. Once he's under it for a few seconds, gets used to it, it starts to feel good.

"There you go," Joe murmurs, nudging Nick back further, until the water is cascading over his head. He doesn't have the energy to tip his head back and Joe has to do it for him, pushing his soaked curls off his face and wiping water from his eyes. "See, you'd drown."

It's kind of humiliating how easy it is to let Joe take care of him - pulling him forward and pushing him back, propping Nick up against the warm tiled wall when he needs his hands. Nick almost thinks he could fall asleep right there, standing up with Joe's fingers working shampoo and conditioner into his hair. And then Joe's hands are wandering over his body, which wakes him up marginally. He doesn't protest much until Joe moves on from his arms to his chest, bare, soap-slicked hands gliding everywhere.

It's stupid, maybe, to get embarrassed again when just minutes ago he was hanging all over Joe, clinging to him like a life line. But Joe is very thorough and focused and his fingers keep sliding over Nick's nipples. His fever ridden brain seems to be honing in on how good it feels, _how good it feels_ , and he can't think of anything else but that. Maybe he is delirious.

He must be because then Joe is moving just slightly lower and touching his stomach. That somehow feels even better, and he dazedly realizes he's getting hard. He knows he is.

"Joe," he starts, not really knowing what he plans to say after that.

"It's okay," Joe says. Soothing his hands from ribs to hip, all over his pushed-out belly, and around to his back where it's not quite touching the wall, just low enough to brush the swell of his ass. "It's okay," he repeats. "We'll just... I'm taking care of you."

He says it just before sweeping his hands lower, fingers dipping into the cradle of Nick's pelvis and moving away again, and then closer  the next time. And closer the next time, retreating before Nick can even think to protest. He's too hazy minded to think maybe Joe won't, too tired and weak and suddenly horny to wonder why he wants him to keep going _so much_.

Joe doesn't skirt around for much longer, quits hesitating when Nick doesn't really discourage what he thinks is about to happen. His soapy hand wraps around Nick where he's gone all stiff and achy, and Nick tips his head back against the wall with a sigh. Joe doesn't tease about it, just grips Nick tight and strips him off like he's been doing it everyday of their lives.

"What if mom and dad-"

"They won't," Joe cuts him off. He doesn't even know what Nick was going to say but he sounds so sure anyway.

Later, Nick might wonder why his only thought, his only concern was if their mom and dad might catch them, not that it was wrong or bad or that they shouldn't, that they _couldn't_. For now, he just feels - Joe boxing him in against the wall, so close that Nick can feel Joe is hard too, rutting against his hip a little bit. Everything is so soapy and slick and warm and a little dream-like, fever induced bleariness, just slightly hazy on the edges. And it feels good, like nothing has in the past few days and Joe does it just right, his grip just tight enough and just quick enough and just hard enough, just _right_ , that Nick can only lean back and let go.

"Joe." His brother's name slips out of his mouth without him really meaning for it to, his voice gone kind of strangled and choked up, like he feels.

"It's okay. I've got you," Joe says and Nick whimpers, a tightness that both hurts and feels good settling low in his gut.

He can feel Joe moving in closer, pressing Nick further to the wall while his hips work with abandon, mindless and with one single intent.

Nick clings onto him, the good-feeling seeming to hit him in the knees first, almost taking him down with a wash of too good tickling up his spine.

"Oh." He chokes on the sound, held up by one of Joe's hands and his leg between Nick's and the wall, coming into Joe's fist, between their bellies, while Joe gets off against his hip, making muffled sounds against Nick's neck.

Nick feels over-sensitized within a couple of breaths, squirming away from Joe and letting the cool water wash away the mix of soap and come. The water doesn't rinse away the weariness that's settled over him and he's left feeling more tired than before, but in a different way. An empty sort of way that almost feels good. The headache and body ache are still there, but the tiredness doesn't feel bone deep, just heavy on his shoulders like he's worked himself too hard. He doesn't quite feel like he's dying any more.

Joe helps him out of the shower and gets him dried up, dresses him in a pair of too thick sweats that Nick knows are going to have him roasting alive in under an hour. He tucks Nick into bed beneath a layer of blankets and kisses him just beneath his lips.

"You'll feel better soon."

"Thanks, Joey," Nick says.

"Told you I'd take care of you," he replies, leaning in to kiss Nick again, this time on the forehead with a smile on his lips.


End file.
